


Victorious

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Masturbation, Necrophilia, Older Woman/Younger Man, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 05:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: An AU in which Lucas somehow ends up working as a hospital porter in an English hospital.Lucas has some nasty little habits, and when he's caught by one of the nurses she uses it to her advantage





	Victorious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittenmoon21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmoon21/gifts).



> Shameless self-insert. Sue me

They were little shits, all of them. Cocky young men with attitude problems who seemed affronted when asked to do their actual fucking jobs. As far as Tori was concerned, they needed a damn good spanking.

The older porters weren't so bad. They had a bit of respect. Knew which side their bread was buttered. But the youngsters just weren't interested. They were all stopping off here on their way to another career, according to them. They were going to be musicians, or website designers or entrepreneurs. Fat chance of that, thought Tori - none of them were prepared to exert themselves any more than absolutely necessary.

Health and safety regulations had forced the smokers into a close knit little group at the back of the hospital, and Tori had to mingle with the porters if she wanted to continue to kill herself. She tried to ignore them as best she could, but they all thought they were God’s Gift, and if they weren't sniggering amongst themselves they were chancing their arm - pretending to flirt with her, cut-price Casanovas making suggestive comments in the hope of making her blush.

She'd only been there a few weeks, though, and they didn't know her well enough to do that. They didn't know what she was like at all.

What did they see when they looked at her? she wondered. Someone's mother? An old maid? They certainly didn't see her as a prospect. She'd show them all one day. She was going to shock the fuck out of them.

 

There was a new guy. Young, but seeming older than the others. Slightly seedy looking. She'd seen him coming to work, unsociable with his ear buds firmly in place, hood up to shadow his face. He wasn't approachable in any way, and even the other young guys kept their distance.

He wasn't allowed to wear his hoodie in the hospital, but he wore the aura of one nevertheless - an invisible garment that cut him off from everyone and made him seem more mysterious than he actually was.

Tori kind of liked him.

He was a misfit, like she'd been at school. She recognised the body language: The defensiveness; the caution. It would take medical equipment to get him to open up. A bonesaw and rib spreaders probably.

Ordinarily he'd just be part of the background, another cog in the hospital machinery, but there was something about him that set him apart. Maybe it was his eyes; they were certainly startling. She'd noticed he didn't meet people's gaze very often, but he'd looked at her once, and his eyes were such a piercing pale blue that she'd nearly dropped the bedpan she'd been carrying. Or maybe it was that nose: A big hooked thing with a bump on the bridge that she'd heard some of the other nurses giggle about. She didn't mind it. She'd always liked a big nose on a man.

Then there was the accent, no doubt common enough where he came from, but here in the South West of England it sounded foreign and exotic. She didn’t know his origins, just that he had some kind of backwoods drawl that put her in mind of moonshine and cousin-fucking. She knew very little about the Southern states of the U.S., and doubtless it was all stereotypes - just like in her neck of the woods where rumours of incest and sheep-shagging abounded.

He was different enough to be interesting to her though, and she found herself watching him far more often than she was comfortable with. She had to have at least 20 years on him. That was no way to conduct herself.

He was a smoker, too, she’d discovered on his first day. Their breaks were in sync, and when she stepped out of the door and saw him propping up the wall, his attention all on his phone screen, she nearly went back inside. She was in no mood to be the Welcome Wagon, and making small talk with young men wasn’t exactly a talent of hers. But to her relief he threw her a single, disinterested glance and turned his attention back to his phone.

They smoked in silence, 10 feet apart, and as she finished her cigarette Tori checked the watch that hung on her breast. She’d practically sucked that one down in one go, and she had enough time for another.

He looked up at the sound of her lighter clicking, and there was a brief expression on his face that was almost respect when he saw she was lighting up a second cancer-stick.

_ Yeah, I can suck, _ she thought to herself with sordid amusement.  _ Wouldn’t you like to know? _

Their peace was shattered as a couple more porters came bundling out of the door. Tori stifled a sigh of irritation: they were two of the ones that gave her the most grief. A mop-headed twat called Matt and his sidekick Darren, a greasy little bastard that always had a private smirk on his lips.

“Well, look who it is.” said Matt as he flicked open his Zippo with an unnecessary flourish. “The love of my life. You given any thought to my offer, Tori?”

Darren sniggered at his side, a snorting sound that reminded her of a cartoon dog.

Ordinarily, Tori would have ignored him, but she had an audience today, and she didn’t want the new boy to think this was how he should treat her.

“I have, as a matter of fact,” she said, flicking ash onto his shoes.

She studied the dwindling butt in her hand. There were about two drags left if she didn’t want to seem like she was escaping, and she took a long one. She had to get her timing right.

“And?” asked Matt.

“I’d rather shit in my hands and clap,” said Tori, taking her final drag and tossing the butt in his direction.

She didn’t look back as she walked away, but she heard a single yelp of laughter that didn’t sound like it came from either of her two tormentors, and as the door swung closed behind her she was rewarded by the peripheral sight of Matt dancing on the spot, trying to brush the burning embers of her cigarette from his shirt.

 

The encounter bothered her far more than she would ever have admitted. She liked to come across as harsh and a little bit closed off, but deep down she wanted people to like her, and she hated confrontations. She spent the next half hour of her shift shaking with a surge of unspent adrenaline - part of it caused by the possibility of an argument, part from the whole unpleasantness of the entire thing.

When her next cigarette break came around, she rushed outside ready to slake her mood with a healthy dose of nicotine, but the new boy was there again, in the exact same spot with his phone cradled in his hands. He was halfway down his own cigarette, and this time when she joined him he gave her a nod of recognition before turning back to his phone. She nodded back - she wasn’t an asshole - and retired to her corner to brood.

She was trying not to look at him, but he fascinated her. What was he doing, here of all places? Why come away from sunny-wherever-it-was to rainy Shit Town? It was an unlikely spot for anyone, and the only reason she was here was because she had been born here.

He was crushing his butt underfoot, and she turned her head away before he could notice her attention. He had his hand on the door ready to go in, but he paused, and she could feel the icy stare of his blue, blue eyes.

She looked up despite herself, and he  _ was _ looking at her, eyes narrowed in the weak English sun.

“Those guys are assholes,” he said as she acknowledged him.

“I know that,” she said.

“What was his offer?” he asked. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to upset me,” she said honestly, and he nodded in understanding.

“Thought he was tryna date you,” he said, and she laughed, choking out cigarette smoke,

“No - he was taking the piss,” she said.

He frowned.

“Keep hearin’ that. What does it mean?”

“Taking the piss? Well, it means...making fun of someone. Teasing them.”

“Oh. I get it. Can I ask you somethin’ else?”

“Go ahead.”

“What’s a ‘wanker’? Keep hearin’ that too.”

He was looking at her with honest curiosity, and she couldn't lie to him.

“It’s an insult,” she said. “‘Wanking’ is to masturbate, so calling someone a wanker would be calling them...a jerk-off?” she guessed.

His frown deepened.

“Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah, those guys are assholes,” he repeated, and he disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him.

 

She felt sorry for him, but at the same time she felt like she might be getting an ally. If there was anything she had learned from school, it was that the weirdos should stick together. There was strength in numbers, after all.

After that day he used her like a translator, sidling up to her in the corridors and shooting questions at her from the corner of his mouth.

“What’s a tosser?”

“Same as a wanker.”

“Those  _ assholes _ …”

Nowadays, when they took their smoke-breaks together, there was none of the pretense at ignoring each other, unless there was someone else present. The porters had transferred their attention from her at first and attempted to use him as their punching bag, but there was something about his blank-faced stare that seemed to make them uncomfortable, and after a while they avoided him.

She liked him. She couldn’t help it. They didn’t talk about themselves when they had moments together - there was nothing personal in their connection - and it was a week before his name tag arrived and she learned his name. But Lucas became a beacon in the workplace, where both of them stood out, and she hoped that she had become his.

 

After two weeks, she had a revelation.

It had taken her a while, but one day there was an incident in the corridors. Someone had died, and the porters were on edge.

People died all the time in the hospital - it was kind of a thing - but there had been rumours of late about something untoward in the mortuary. It was the usual type of non-scandal that had probably started as a practical joke, but recently nobody had wanted to take the bodies to the basement, and the porters were gathered in a private little huddle, arguing about who should go.

She had found them there, deep in conversation, hushed and urgent tones snapping back and forth, and she had remained just out of sight to listen.

“I ain’t going down there,” Matt was saying. “You fucking heard about what happened!”

“I heard it from you,” pointed out Liam. “Who did you hear it from?”

“That guy who left,” said Matt. “Jerome. He was in the fucking mortuary, and he heard someone  _ groan _ .”

“Jerome was full of shit,” said Darren. “Remember when he told us he’d met Snoop Dogg?”

“That did happen,” said Mitchell. “Got his autograph and everything.”

“There you go!” said Matt in triumph. “He met Snoop Dogg, and he heard a groan in the mortuary. Say what you want, but I ain’t going down there. Fuck that.”

“Bodies make noises,” said Liam. “We all know that. Creepy as shit, but it don’t mean nothing.”

“You go down there then,” said Matt. “But we all know it ain’t just the noises. They  _ move _ ….”

“Fuck off!”

It was Kieran, the brains of the group.

“They don’t move!”

“Swear down!” said Matt. “I took a body down there, came back later - and nobody else had gone in there, mind you - and one of the bodies was in a different position. I don’t give a shit, mate. I am not going down there, and that’s final.”

Someone else arrived, and the group split apart like Moses had just done his party trick. It was Lucas, her unlikely southern hero, and he looked at the gathered porters like one of them had just farted in his face.

“You guys are a bunch o’ fuckin’ pussies,” he announced, and nobody argued despite their greater numbers.

“Just fuckin’ dead folk down there. They ain’t gonna hurt no-one. Get outta the way. I’ll fuckin’ take him.”

And he did, skinny arms bunching with knotted muscles as he shoved the laden trolley between them. He had a swagger in his walk that put the rest of them to shame, and he held his head high as as he pressed the button to the service lift.

His colleagues drifted away, shame-faced and emasculated to a man, and as the doors to the lift parted, Lucas watched them go with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

 

She wanted to fuck him. That was the bare truth.

She’d tried to deny it, but that moment in the corridors had brought it home to her, slamming her in the uterus and all the parts surrounding.

He was a scruffy looking thing: Scrawny and stubbled. Part of her wanted to feed him up and put some meat on his bones. Another part wanted to tie him up and jump his bones.

She had unwilling daydreams, torn from her whilst she idled at her work, in which they came together across the shattered bones of an RTC victim, primal in its nature and uncaring of their surroundings. She thought about him when she slid a catheter into a clenched urethra, the hiss of breath from her patient melding into a sigh of arousal from Lucas’s mouth, and every time she pierced a vein with a needle, she couldn’t help but picture his stiff cock, sliding into the welcoming chasm of her pussy.

Their friendship suffered, and he had to be confused. Now when they met during their smoke-breaks, she found herself almost shy in his presence, their conversation stilted and dry. He did his best to combat it, but she couldn’t meet his eye anymore, knowing that his suddenly sultry gaze might betray the way she felt.

 

It came to a head one day by the lift. She was headed for the mortuary, a file clutched in her hand, and he joined her with a gurney bearing a fresh body.

“Goin’ down?” he asked her, innocently enough, but she had to squeeze her thighs together at the sudden flood.

His hand was poised over the rank of buttons, and she noticed, not for the first time, how long and slender his fingers were.

She nodded, unable to speak, and he shrugged, pressing the button for the basement.

Trapped together in the mobile metal womb, Tori looked at the ceiling, but she could feel his questioning gaze upon her.

It wasn’t fair to him, her sudden change of heart, and he’d done nothing to encourage it apart from his casual banter in the space outside the back door. She wanted to put things back to the way they were before, but it was impossible now. The damage her libido had done couldn’t be taken back.

The lift doors opened, and they both stepped out.

“Hold the door, will ya?” he asked her, and she did so, turning her face away so he wouldn’t see her flush.

“Y’know, Tori, I can’t help feelin’ like i done somethin’ to upset ya,” he said as he wheeled the gurney out. “You been awful squirrely around me, an’ if I have done somethin’, I wish you’d say. Ain’t nobody else in this place I feel like I can talk to.”

“You haven’t done anything, Lucas,” she said. “It’s me. I haven't been myself lately.”

“Seems to me you’re the only person you  _ can  _ be,” he said. “What’s up with you, Tori? Is there somethin’ I can do?”

“No,” she lied.

_ You could fuck me, _ her psyche muttered, and she shrugged it off with a twitch of her shoulders.

He was staring again, lips pursed in thought, and she felt like shit for making him feel so uncertain.

“I wish you’d tell me,” he said again. “Feel like we’d gotten real close. Have I been...comin’ on too strong, maybe?”

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

“What?” she said stupidly.

He hunched his shoulders, looking bashful all of a sudden.

“I guess I ain’t made it no secret that I like you. Is that what it is? Shit, Tori - I can’t help it. You’re a fine lookin’ woman, an’ I always liked me a cougar. Have I made it too obvious? Cuz I swear, I didn’t mean to…”

She was standing on solid floor, but his words made her feel like she was floating on something insubstantial. He  _ liked _ her? Holy shit…

She faltered in her reply, meaning to say something reassuring, but he pounced on her wavering speech, releasing the gurney to pull in close.

“You did  _ know _ , didn’t ya? That I liked you? I been tryin’ to hide it, but I guess I can’t act for shit. Been thinkin’ on you for awhile, I guess. Tryna pretend there weren’t nothin’ there. But it’s true….I like you a whole lot….”

It was like a dream, and she felt the urge to pinch herself to make sure he was awake. All this time she’d been lusting after him, and it seemed he’d been doing the same over her.

“Oh, shit, Lucas…” she said, her heart momentarily appearing on her sleeve, and his expression brightened, the corpse on the trolley forgotten for the moment.

“You feel the same way? Godammit, Tori, I ain’t never thought that! I felt like we had a connection, maybe, like we understood each other, but I never thought….Fuck!”

He was moving in for a kiss, and though she’d daydreamed about this moment, the reality wasn’t the same. Did she really want to fuck this boy in the basement, surrounded by broken wheelchairs and the overhanging pipes of the hospital’s air conditioning? Did she want to start some kind of relationship with a man 20 years who junior that would end with her going back to his accommodation, which was probably a student bedsit, full of takeout containers and the noise from his neighbours only a foot away through a wall the breadth of a gnat’s fart?

What was she  _ doing _ ?

She needed to think. She put a hand against his chest, flat against the hammering of his heart, and pushed.

“Lucas, no…” she said, meaning not  _ here,  _ not  _ now _ , but his face crumpled at her denial, something going hard in his expression.

“What?” he demanded, and his voice was harsh. “I thought you….what the fuck?”

“Lucas,” she began, wanting to explain, but he was already pulling away, betrayal on his face, and his mouth was twisted in bitter accusation.

“What’s goin’ on here? Were you...takin’ the piss? Is that what this was?”

“No!” she said, but she knew at that moment he wasn’t going to listen.

He’d been rejected, as far as he was concerned, and she was a bitch for leading him on. She’d seen his expression, echoed so many times, and none of those times had been fair. But to get it from  _ him _ ?

“You don’t understand,” she said, but he was already turning from her - physically and emotionally.

“Oh, I understand,” he said. “Lead Lucas on, leave him hangin’. I understand well enough.”

And he was gone, wheeling his gurney into the mortuary, a toothless open mouth that she was unable to follow him through.

She waited a few minutes, hoping he’d come back out, but he was hiding, and she knew that what had barely started was already over.

 

He was stubborn, but so was she. If he’d given her the slightest encouragement, she would have tried to mend the bridges they’d demolished, but his attitude from that moment on wouldn’t allow any humility.

He never joined in with the teasing from the porters after that day, but he never supported her either, ignoring the scalding words that drifted over his head like they meant nothing.

She’d tried to be upset, but all she felt was angry. Had he listened? Had he let her explain?

The answer to both those questions was No, and when she lay in bed alone at night, analysing her actions, she could not put herself at fault.

_ Well, fuck him then _ , her emotions told her, and though she normally listened to them it was selective now. She was horrified to learn that his dismissal of her, while it hurt, also didn’t deny her attraction.

_ Fuck him _ , her mind said, and she realised that despite everything, she still wanted to. But on her terms. Only on her terms.

 

It was lonely at work now. She'd invested so much time and energy in her friendship with Lucas she hadn't bothered much with anybody else beyond discussions about the patients.

She drifted through the environment alone, crossing paths with her colleagues, seeing Lucas here and there. He was the only one who would visit the mortuary now. He was King of the Dead, a dubious honour, and Tori’s only consolation was that he had to be as lonely as her with only the corpses for company.

 

“Oh, shit!”

Tori looked up at the curse.

Melanie had her hands full. Her pager was going off, and she was juggling a bundle of dirty sheets and a sheaf of paperwork whilst a patient called for a bedpan, and she looked like she was at the end of her tether.

“What's wrong?”

“I left Mr Olsen’s notes on his trolley and that creepy bloke has already taken him away. Could you do me a favour and go and fetch them? I hate to ask but I've got Mrs Rutherford's ass to deal with on top of everything else.”

“Yeah, why not. I'll do it now.”

“Thanks, Tori.”

She didn't mind the errand. She was in a foul mood that day and everything was getting on her nerves, so escaping for 10 minutes would be a welcome diversion. She knew she stood a slim chance of running into Lucas, but Mr Olsen had been taken down half an hour ago and it was unlikely Lucas was still there.

She liked it down in the basement. It was creepy and raw, far from the hospital’s public face, and the long dim corridors were almost always deserted. Her footfalls echoed as she walked towards the mortuary, but even over the clumps of her soles she could hear another sound. It was a combination of noises - a rhythmic creaking, an occasional squeak, and some sort of huffing, like muffled hydraulics.

Curious, she followed the collection of sounds, tracking them to the mortuary, and stood outside to listen. Was it some kind of machinery?

She pushed open the door. It had been awfully creaky recently, but someone from maintenance had evidently sorted it out and when it swung inwards it did so silently.

It was dark in the morgue. All the lights were out but for a single desk lamp in the corner, and in its glow she could see movement on one of the gurneys. She wasn't superstitious, but for a second her heart lurched at the sight of the hunched shadow, believing it to be some kind of demon, but once her vision had adjusted she realised she was wrong.

It wasn't a demon, it was a human being, and the sharpness of the profile - the hooked nose and high forehead - meant it could only be Lucas.

He was fucking one of the corpses, his skinny ass bobbing as he pounded the dead meat beneath him. The gurney squeaked and creaked, jerking minutely back and forth, and he was panting through clenched teeth as he worked his way to completion.

Tori couldn't move, couldn't speak. Her mind was trying to deny what she saw, to find another explanation, but when her gaze fell upon the open tub of vaseline on the trolley next to the unlikely couple, deep finger gouges in its greasy contents, she knew what was going on without a doubt.

He looked to be getting near the end, and Tori struggled to find her voice. The body was of a middle-aged woman, large and fleshy with huge breasts that rolled with the motion of the trolley, and as she watched Lucas hauled himself up to free one hand and took a hold of one of the cold sacs, fingers sinking into the skin.

For some reason, it was enough to shock Tori from her muteness, and her voice was huge and powerful, thundering around the room.

**“You dirty little bastard!”**

His reaction was immediate, a jerk of shock throwing him backwards, and his stiff dick popped out of his unresisting partner. Tori stared with horrified fascination at the angry red shaft, the veins slick with vaseline, the head engorged with blood, and Lucas fell back off the trolley, fumbling with frantic desperation at his underwear.

“Don't you knock?” he squawked, and the unlikely question pulled an inappropriate bark of laughter from her.

“Knock? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Hysteria was brimming up within her, the urge to laugh until she couldn't breathe welling up in her chest, and she swallowed it down with difficulty.

He was pulling up his trousers, the tip of his cock still peeking above the waistband of his shorts, and Tori slammed her hand over her mouth to smother her mirth before she choked on it.

His face was red, partly from his recent exertion and partly from embarrassment, and the rims of his ears nearly glowed in the gloom.

“This ain't how it looks,” he mumbled, pulling up his zip.

“Yes it fucking is! Oh my god, Lucas! What the yellow rubbery fuck have you been doing? Is this a regular thing? Do you do this a lot?  It would explain why you're always so fucking keen to come down here!”

She started towards him and he cringed away from her.

“This is the first time,” he bleated, but a quick glance into the vaseline tub betrayed his lie.

It was more than half empty, telling a secret tale of frequent trysts down here, and she shook her head violently, wanting to dislodge the sudden knowledge.

“It was you Jerome heard down here,” she said. “It was you that moved the body Matt saw. Jesus tittyfucking Christ, Lucas - this has been going on for a long time….”

Her words dried up as another realisation struck her.

“Holy shit….that time down here when you were going to kiss me….you'd already been humping the cadavers! You were going to put that filthy dick in me after it had been in corpses! You disgusting, dirty, evil little shit!”

He had his hands over his face, his shoulders bowed, and she wanted to believe it was shame that caused his posture but she had a horrible feeling it was merely from being caught.

“Don't tell anyone,” he moaned from behind the mask of his hands. “I'll lose my job.”

“Your  _ job _ ? Lucas, I think you're in danger of losing a lot more than your job. Your liberty for starters. I'm not certain about the laws surrounding this, but I'm pretty sure it has to be illegal, and even if it's not….your mental health will be looked at  _ very hard _ .”

He lowered his hands.

“Please….” he said. “Don't tell on me…”

“I should. If only for your own good. This isn't right, Lucas, and I shouldn't have to tell you that. You must  _ know _ .”

He shrugged.

“Guess I do,” he said. “Tried not to think about it, if I'm bein’ honest. But they don't judge me. Can be myself around them.”

For a moment, she almost felt sorry for his sob story, but then she remembered how he'd shunned her without waiting for an explanation. How he'd turned away from and against her, and she felt herself grow hard again.

She folded her arms under her breasts.

“You could have been yourself around me,” she said. “Except if this is what you're like I'm not sure I'd have wanted to know. You had your chance, Lucas, and you weren't prepared to hear me out, so I think I'm going to report you.”

His expression wavered, caught half way between fear and anger.

“Is this what this is about? Me an’ you?” he said, his voice full of sullen accusation.

“No. It's about you fucking dead bodies,” she said, and he had no comeback for that. 

She turned away, but he took a pace after her, grabbing her above the elbow, and she realised with sick dread that she was alone down here with this depraved man. A spike of fear plunged through her belly and she pulled her arm away.

“Don't you dare touch me,” she said, and he curled his lip at her rebuke.

“Why? What ya gonna do?  _ Spank  _ me?”

He bared his teeth in a sour sneer that was nearly a grin, but it dripped off his face when she returned the smile, unafraid.

“Well, I wasn't going to, but now you've mentioned it….that seems like a suitable retribution for what you've done. Just for starters.”

He gawped at her in disbelief, retreating the step he'd taken.

“What….?”

“I mean, unless you want me to report you. And believe me, once I open that can of worms you're going to be hit with a whole storm of shit. And not just official shit, Lucas. Word gets around. People gossip.  _ Everyone _ will know, and any gaps in their knowledge they'll fill in with speculation. You'll be in the local news, probably. The necrophiliac hospital porter. And even if you don't go to prison you won't be able to show your face in public. So. It's my way….or theirs. Your choice.”

“You're fucked up,” he said finally.

“Says the man who shags corpses. You can't kinkshame me, Lucas, not from where you're standing. So what's it to be?”

His shoulders sagged, and at that point she knew she had won.

 

It was no shock to her that she had cruel tendencies. In her darkest moments, when the porters were pissing her off, she had always thought about revenge, and not in traditional terms.

She’d read fiction - stories in which businesswomen had discovered their employees stealing from them, and had offered them an ultimatum: Be fired, have the police called in, or be spanked. Some stories had even claimed to be real.

Unrealistic though they were, she had always loved those tales. She’d imagined those scenarios more than once - of finding those cocksure boys doing something they shouldn’t be, and of threatening to report them unless they capitulated to her demands.

_ You’ve been stealing drug _ s! _ I’m calling the police! _

_ Oh please don’t! I’ll do anything! _

_ Anything…? _

Revenge was a dish best served cold, she’d been told, but who wanted cold when they could serve up the hot and chastened buttocks of a humiliated young man? It would let them know who they were dealing with. It would make them understand that she wasn’t to be trifled with…

It had all been a pipe dream till now, but here in the basement it was about to become a reality.

“Turn and face the gurney,” she said. “You can look at your girlfriend while I'm doing it.”

He did as he was told, his movements stiff and stilted, and she felt a guilty little thrill run down her spine. His obvious resentment was a goad to her, and if he thought his reluctance was going to sway her, he was wrong.

He muttered something under his breath, something she was sure was disrespectful, and she retaliated with a slap to the underside of his ass that made him yelp more out of shock than pain.

“Don't be cheeky. It's not going to help you.”

There was a cabinet in the corner where she knew they kept some items to neaten up the bodies so the relatives could view them, and it was the work of mere minutes to find what she was looking for.

Lucas swallowed hard as she returned swinging the hairbrush at her side, flinging her a cowed little glance from under his eyelashes. He had his hands on the metal trolley, and his knuckles were white from how hard he was clinging onto it.

The hairbrush was a cheap, plastic thing, but it had a broad, flat back to it that Tori guessed would sting horribly. She tested it against the palm of her hand and he recoiled at the sound, his face now more alarmed than sulky.

“Drop your trousers,” she instructed, and he turned then, full of indignation.

“Hey!” he objected. “I didn't agree to that!”

“Yes you did,” said Tori. “Drop them. Now.”

He faltered, evidently considering his options, then turned away again, fumbling at his fly. She heard the rasp of his zip, and he released his waistband. He was a skinny thing, and his trousers dropped straight to his ankles with no hips to catch on. He resumed his previous position, steeling himself.

“C’mon then. Let's get this over with,” he said.

She got the impression he was trying to take control of the situation, display a little bravado, and she couldn't have that. 

“Underwear too,” she said. “Pull your shorts down.”

He froze at that, his spine going rigid, and she could almost see the mechanism in his brain working, turning over the possibility that she was bluffing.

She sighed noisily.

“Ah, well. Looks like I have no choice then. I'm sure Sister is still on shift - I'll go and see her now.”

“No, wait! I'll do it, okay? Just….stay put…”

She heard him gulp, but his hands were moving to his hips, tugging the stretchy fabric of his black shorts down. Tori stepped back to watch as he bared himself, his false confidence in tatters. He was careful not to reveal too much, and he stopped when the elastic of his shorts reached the underside of his buttocks.

Tori laughed.

“What, you're shy now? After what you've been up to? You can do better than that!”

She leaned forward, pulling his underwear down with an impatient jerk and he squeaked, trying to grab them back up. He got a sharp smack across the back of his hand for that, the hairbrush rapping against his knuckles, and he snatched his hand back, cradling it against his chest.

Tori finished the job, pulling them down until they were strung between his thighs. The long muscles there were tensed, and she had to fight the urge to run her hand over them, feel them thrum beneath her fingers.

His uniform collared t-shirt was too big for his slight form, and the hem hung down below his coccyx, partially covering him. Tori tucked the hairbrush into her belt, rolling his top up and using the watch she had pinned to her breast to fasten it in place. As a final touch she put her hand flat between his shoulder blades and pushed, inclining his upper body over the trolley.

She stood back to admire her work.

It was cold down here, and his exposed skin was covered in a fine rash of goosebumps. He shivered with barely meat on his frame to insulate him, and she could see the individual bumps of his vertebrae standing out in knots down the middle of his back.

His ass was a taut, muscular little bump and she thought there would be very little cushioning to protect him when she began.  Lower down, she could just see the underhang of his balls between his legs, shrunken in the chill, and the fuzzy suggestion of hair.

His head was hanging low on the long stem of his neck, defeated, but as she moved forward he lifted it, turning to crane over his shoulder. He still looked angry, but there was uncertainty under it now, and the deep cut of his wounded pride. Baring him had taken his attitude down a notch, but it wasn't enough.

“Eyes front,” she said, and he snapped his head around.

Past the line of his waist, the corpse lay still, unheeding, and now that she had the time Tori noticed that Lucas has attempted to put some makeup on her - a smudge of eyeshadow, a smear of lipstick. He was going to get extra for that.

She pulled the hairbrush from her belt and placed the flat of it against his ass, judging the distance. He flinched, clenching his muscles in reflex, and she tapped him till he relaxed.

She gave him no warning when she started, swinging her arm back and letting the momentum carry it forward again.  Lucas yelped when it connected, going up onto his toes, his hands leaving the trolley to go behind him.

Tori clicked her tongue.

“Hands on the trolley!” she said curtly, and he obeyed reluctantly. “If you do that again I might hit them, and that could break the bones, so keep them there or I'll tie them.”

He nodded, squaring his shoulders. He had straightened up at the first blow, and she pushed him down again, her hand on the nape of his neck. She could feel him quivering, minute little tics in his body.

Once he was positioned to her satisfaction she took aim again. There was a vivid red mark on his right buttock, flaring up against his pale skin, and when she struck him again she went for the left side. She heard him gasp, but his hands remained in place, fingertips pressing against the metal. There was a faint aura outlining each digit - his sweat and heat misting a print there. She went back to the right cheek, overlapping the first mark, then switched to the left again.

His hips twisted as she gathered speed, peppering his ass with swift, snappy little spats, and he squirmed, the soles of his shoes scraping the floor. Tori kept half an eye on the door as she worked. At some point, someone would miss her, and she didn't have time for finesse. She had to break him fast. The urgency made her brutal, and she worked in a barely restrained frenzy, covering the limited area of his ass with the back of the hairbrush.

He made an involuntary sound, a whine trapped mostly in his throat, and pulled his ass in instinctively. Tori flung her free arm across the jittering drum of his belly, forcing it away from the trolley, holding him in place.

She transferred her focus to the underside of his ass, the tender sit-spot, laying on a volley of strikes that made him moan, and there were strangled words in there, dragged out if him despite his self-control. She thought she heard the word  _ bitch _ , spat from the depths of his ire, and put some more power behind her arm, slanting upwards.

His entire body quivered, and she caught a glimpse of his face, twisted with anguish, a snarl of pain etched across his mouth, but she thought he looked shocked too. He'd misjudged her; he hadn't expected to be brought down so fast.

Her arm was already aching, unused to such exertion, and she was running out of time and energy. He didn't look nearly contrite enough. The veins stood out on his neck, the tendons of his arms drawing stringy paths, and she thought that by the time she'd finished there would be dents in the trolley, pressed in there by his clutching fingers, but he was still stalwart, determined.

Out of desperation she switched to the back of his thighs, starting a broad stripe that slowly extended downwards. His muffled gasps grew more intense, and he danced on the balls of his feet, but she showed no mercy, hitting him until she finally heard the noise she'd been waiting for: A sob.

She gave him a few more whacks to the fullness of his ass for good measure, reminding him where she'd started, and let her arm hang, exhausted.

He was sniffling, shoulders shaking, and she tossed the brush onto the gurney with a clang.

“Turn around,” she said, surprised at the husky quality of her voice.

He did so without hesitation, spanked into obedience, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. Hed bitten his lip at some point, and there was a bright speckle of blood on the lower one that she wanted to lick off.

He made no effort to cover any part of himself, and whilst Tori wasn't surprised at her own arousal, she was surprised at his. His face was a picture of misery but his cock told a different story.

It stood straight out in front of him, straining like a dowsing rod, the head engorged with blood, and as she watched it twitched upwards in a single pulse.

She shifted position where she stood. Her underwear was soaking, she realised, her pussy a tight little knot that ached.

“I think you should thank me,” she said, and he nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, and his dick jerked again.

“No…”

Tori moved quickly, going to the wall beyond the trolley and putting her back against it. She could see the morgue door from where she stood.

Lucas turned to watch her go, confused, but his eyes lit up in understanding as she lifted her skirt.

“You should get down on your knees and thank me.”

Tori always wore stockings beneath her uniform, either hold ups or with a garter belt. It was her sexy little secret, something she used to give her confidence, and Lucas kept his eyes glued to her thighs as she unveiled them. He snatched up his trousers, pulling them up to his knees so he wouldn't trip, and scuttled forward, dropping to the floor and crawling.

She pulled the hem of her uniform up till, showing him the damp lace of her underwear, and he settled back on his haunches, sore ass resting on his heels. There was no time to undress, but she hooked the gusset of her knickers aside with one finger, inviting him.

His gaze had none of the sass from before. Instead, he looked at her with a kind of awe, stretching his neck forward.

“Quickly,” she said, and he nodded, scooting forward another couple of inches.

His tongue popped out, and she held her breath, his hands drifting up to clutch the backs of her thighs. They were cold from the trolley, and they came to rest where her stockings ended, exploring the sheer nylon and the plump skin all at once.

She shuddered at the first swipe of his tongue, parting her labia and nudging against her soggy clit. He made a greedy little noise, fingertips digging into her, and started to lick in firm sweeps, tongue flattening and pressing into her crease.

Eyes on the door, Tori rolled her hips into his face, feeling the pointed end of his nose grinding against her pubis.

“Good boy….” she murmured, her back edging down the wall.

She braced her feet further apart, opening herself up, and his tongue slid deeper, lapping against the sticky slit of her cunt.

His hands slid up her thighs, fingers spreading and creeping into the leg holes of her knickers, cupping the soft swell of her ass. He squeezed, his lips tightening around her clit as he sucked on it, sending a flash of heat into her belly.

Eyes on the door, Tori let her skirt drop, trapping him beneath it, and he stopped uncertainly, soothed back into action when she pressed on the crown of his head.

“Don't stop,” she told him, raking down the zip of her uniform.

She yanked the edges apart, shivering at the cold of exposure and the strum of his tongue. He might be a twisted little shit, she thought, but he could lick pussy like it was an Olympic sport.

She popped her tits out of her bra, taking them in her hands. Her nipples were rigid little points and she pinched at them, pulling as Lucas tilted his head back and slurped hungrily at her juices.

There was a tell-tale tenseness beginning between her thighs where he laboured, a fluttering of her pussy walls, and she gritted her teeth together, concentrating on his sloppy ministrations, twisting at her nipples. He grunted down there, making a hard line of his lips and shaking his head, rubbing her clit from side to side, prickling the thin skin with his stubble.

She gasped, the noise echoing around the morgue with its silent audience, and he thrust his tongue into the tight hole of her cunt as it clenched, the ripple of her orgasm clasping it in her.

Her head hit the wall, her pelvis stuttering and grinding her pussy onto his face, and she felt his fingernails bite little crescents into her ass.

“Fuck!”

She held his head in place while she rode out her climax, squeezing his hot ears between her thighs, and he slowed his rhythm considerately, stroking the last little tremors from her, coaxing out a few more precious drops.

She sighed, sagging against the wall.

“Good boy,” she repeated, feeling affectionate towards him now. She rubbed his head through her skirt, then raised it, releasing him. He gazed up at her, lips shiny wet, stubble soaked in the slimy residue of her cunt. He looked dazed, like he'd just woken up from anaesthetic, and he watched blearily as she rearranged her clothing.

“Wait….” he said as she zipped her dress back up. “Don't I get nothin’?”

She tapped her foot as she considered his request. He’d taken his spanking very well, and her orgasm had been lovely.

“Okay,” she said, and reached over his head, snagging the pot of vaseline from the trolley. She held it out to him, lowered so he could reach.

“You can finish yourself off while I watch,” she said.

He looked like he was about to protest, but she flicked her eyes meaningfully towards where the hairbrush lay, and he nodded, dipping two fingers into the tub and scooping up a gob of the lubricant. She watched as he quickly slathered it along the length of his dick, smearing it evenly with no self-consciousness. He stroked it experimentally, pressing his thumb against the point where the head met the shaft, looking up at her for approval, then made a circle of his finger and thumb, choking up beneath the head.

He started to wank himself, vicious little jerks of his arm, putting one hand to the floor for support. He had his eyes fixed on the front of her skirt for inspiration, and Tori was in such a good mood she lifted it again. He groaned, leaning forward so his face was inches from the swampy cling of her underwear, and she could hear him sniffing, taking deep lungfuls of her scent.

“That’s it,” she said. “You rub that filthy dick for me, you dirty little bastard.”

He moaned, daring to press his lips in a worshipful little kiss against the crotch of her knickers, and before she could chastise him for taking such a liberty his shoulders tensed. He drew back, eyes rolling up in his head, and she saw the spurts of his spunk dribbling over his knuckles, dripping onto the mortuary floor.

“That was quick,” she commented, and he grinned drunkenly, swaying back and forth, milking his cum, strangling it all out.

Tori let her skirt drop once more, brisk and efficient now.

“I have to get back to work,” she said. “I strongly suggest you clear up any evidence of your little hobby.”

He nodded, struggling to his feet. His messy hand dragged his shorts up, and he winced at the stickiness.

Tori carefully stepped over the little spatters of spunk, finding Mr Olsen’s trolley and retrieving the paperwork she’d come to find. Lucas had managed to fasten his fly, but seemed confused as to why he couldn’t pull his shirt down, and she laughed, unpinning her watch from the back.

He looked relaxed and lazy now, a faint smile clinging to his lips.

“Have you learned your lesson now?” asked Tori.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said. “Don’t reckon I’ll even think about fuckin’ a corpse for at least...a week, maybe?”

“A week?”

He shrugged.

“Gimme time to heal,” he said. “Gonna have some pretty big bruises by the feel o’ it.”

“You’re not seriously going to do it again?” she asked, aghast.

“I might,” he said. “Unless there’s someone can stop me....”

She nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “Next week then. And you better behave yourself from now on.”

He sketched a lazy little salute, grabbing a mop from the corner to clean up his mess.

“And make sure you wipe that makeup off that corpse’s face,” said Tori as a parting shot, pushing open the door to the morgue and starting off toward the lift with a jaunty little spring in her step.

 


End file.
